Black
by SteamPoweredHeart
Summary: He couldn't remember a fucking thing; all he knew is that his bratty meister was almost dead, he had his own body and that he found Soul Eater Evans deliciously attractive much to his complications. Ragnarok/Soul, Crona/Maka, Black*Star/Kid, possible Spirit/Stein implications.


Title: Black.

Pairing: Ragnarok/Soul, Crona/Maka, Black*Star/Kid, possible Spirit/Stein implications.

Summary: He couldn't remember a fucking thing; all he knew is that his bratty meister was almost dead, he had his own body and that he found Soul Eater Evans deliciously attractive much to his complications.

* * *

Vision blurred, he couldn't remember a _fucking_ thing. He didn't know what was happening; all he knew was the pounding in his head was worse than any whining or blow to the head he usually encountered.

Squinting, he tried to look around – the room was white & black, with tall cabinets that touched the ceiling, though it could easily have been the walls with how the whiteness continued like an endless stream of forever. Shades of black and grey littered the room in forms of cabinets, medicine capsules, chairs and books. The curtain around him bed was drawn backwards so he could actually take in his surroundings and he could only presume another bed was to the side of him but a white curtain flowed around it, like one of them chamber poster beds that the snake bitch had, obscuring his view.

"Hey, dude, wake up."

His vision was more focused now, and he found himself aching all over when he tried to move. The voice appeared to have tanned, and surprisingly soft hands because they were pushing him into the mattress whilst he tried to seat himself upwards (which is strange; he's never had to sit himself upright before, he popped out of Crona's back upright all the time.)

Calm eyes stared at him, they were hard to read – he only knew basic human emotions but these eyes (that stared so intensely that it was actually creeping him out) were a confusing mixture that made the other physically have to place hands over his head.

Hands. With fingers.

He opened his eyes and moved the appendages back a bit, to get a full look; they were like every human hand he has ever seen; four fingers, one thumb with the same on the other hand. His skin, was an ash grey compared to the varieties of skin he dyed red with blood before. Another unusual feature he noticed was the long white lines that follows up his arms from his middle finger and presumably continues on past his shoulders.

He must have made some movement or panicked noise, because next thing he knew he was sat upright in a white bed with iron frame and surrounded by three people he could beat the crap out of if he wasn't in such pain; the fat cow known as Maka, her stupid weapon Soul and that crazy stitched-up fucker, Stein.

Maka had left when Soul nodded at her, reassuring her about something. His ears were ringing and he didn't feel like listening to them for once. Stein wandered over to him, and checked over his body no matter how many times the demon sword glared and struggled against him.

"You seem okay…" he chewed on the crumpled cigarette before dumping it in a nearby bin. "I'd say to get some pain killers down and use those legs of yours."

"Aren't you at least phased by… oh, I don't know, that fact I have fucking legs!"

Stein shrugged, pushing his glasses up.

"I'm trying to find out what caused this but so far, I have nothing. The best thing we can do for now, is that you get used to walking on two legs instead of relying on Crona."

At the mention of Crona, Ragnarok glanced with curiosity at Maka and watched as her body tense up ever so slightly and worry consume her face, making it scrunch up to be even more ugly. He knew that emotion; he saw it on Crona constantly.

It was a stupid emotion.

"So what happened to the brat?"

Stein coughed ever so slightly, before explaining it all; little to no blood was in Crona's body when they were found. Crona was minutes from dying with just enough blood in the body to keep him alive and Ragnarok was out cold in this human form. The crazy man told how he had to place the comatose Crona in here with him, and have most of his precious blood samples pumped into Crona just to keep the brat alive.

"Is the brat… going to be okay?" frowned the demon sword – he doesn't care about Crona; he could easily get a new meister…

"Yes, he will. For now, Soul will be helping you get used to your human body since he seems to be the only one willing."

The albino muttered something inaudible, but Ragnarok shrugged it off.

"Well, that's all well and fucking good but I don't feel like waving my dick around so I am not leaving unless I get me some clothes."

Soul rubbed the back of his neck and left with that Stein guy leaving me lonesome with my whirling thoughts; what happened? Is the brat really okay? Was it a witch? Why was he in a human body?

His thought-train was interrupted by the creaking of the door and a pile of fabric colliding with his lap, parts of metal making the demon sword wince.

"Your clothes… Patty and Liz picked them out so I'd say thanks to them when ya' can."

Ragnarok scoffed; ruffling his black locks – they felt oddly soft, unlike his usually smooth baldness – before letting out a heavy sigh and shooing the two away, Stein pulling back a curtain around Ragnarok's bed.

* * *

His body ached all over and it took him at least half an hour to put the clothes on, with a lot of tips and instructions from Soul on the other side of the curtain wall.

He wore a metal collar with two spikes of the left and right; a tight black shirt that had no sleeves and defined the skinniness of Ragnarok in this particular state; A metal studded sash across from his right shoulder to his left hip; Tight leather pants with a silver chain and a golden arrow dangling from one of the links; Two studded bracelets and finally, shoes similar to Maka's shoes with the same 'x' shape.

Stepping out, his legs wobbled from the lack of use and stumbled into a well-toned body (he could tell just from the feel) forcing him to look up as sturdy hands pressed against his shoulders. He felt his face tug into a frown as he pushed away from Soul who had an empty smirk on his face.

"I can fucking walk, moron…"

"Sure ya' can, just here to make sure you don't fall on your ass."

With a smirk, he stuck the hands in his pockets and gestured towards the door; "Where we going then?"

Soul blinked, he looked faintly confused but Ragnarok rubbed it off as soon as the emotion left the scythe weapon's face. Instead, Ragnarok studied his face as a whole.

It was oddly attractive; his eyes were a deep red like the blood of innocent humans, the complete opposite to the calming blue colour of human souls he consumed; Soul had surprisingly noticeable bags under those eyes that defined certain darkness to him; his skin tone was tanned, an exotic shade of olive but a hint darker; his face was long, and his jaw was easily on show but he didn't look thin at all – if anything, he was moderate in build as an all-rounder; his hair was white like snow, that he had once encounter on an adventure to Greenland to consume the more isolated, chilled souls (a lot like how he imagined ice-cream tasted) but pushed back into a spiky clump by the thin black head-band he wore.

It was also infuriating because this was the prick whose meister made him all tiny and midget-looking. Even if she did make Crona happy.

He owed them that much; these stupid brats made Crona happy, and feel welcome.

Something he couldn't do or comprehend.

He followed Soul around, glaring at anyone that even bothered to give him a strange look or smirk at the few ladies that would stop and giggle.

He did look rather _dashing _in his new form if he should say so himself, heck he'd go so far to say he was smoking hot. He could feel the eyes, but it never bugged him – he liked attention just as much as he loved food.

A lot.

He listened to Soul's occasional blabbering when they ran into the girls that picked out his clothing – he just labelled them annoying, hot chick and wussy, hot bitch – and Liz (that would be wussy, hot bitch) swooned a bit over how good he looked, and how she was a genius when it came to picking it out clothing.

"Then why do you both look like western cowboy whores?" he murmured loud enough to be heard by the small group of four; his voice was seductive, with a twisted tone to it. He saw that is made the smaller one giggle and the other frown with irritation at been called a whore before snapping at him with a sharp click of her tongue. Ragnarok didn't really listen.

He just watched how his slight tints of cruelty, in such a tone, would made Soul's eyes wander away, and his shark-like teeth dig into his lower lip. Intriguing as it was, Ragnarok was forced to _apologize_. He only did it to get on the scythe's good side.

After all; Ragnarok might as well make some sort of friendship while he was stuck under his supervision.

* * *

I decided to re-start this because the first chapter… well, it sucked. Let's face it.

Hope you like this version better and I drew Soul/Ragnarok on my DeviantArt account: so check that out if you want on HindersideDrug.


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